


Promised Love

by MashUpGames



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Romance, BAMF Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bard Dovahkiin, Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, Cultural Miscommunication, Culture Shock, Dovahkiin is a romantic, Drunken Shenanigans, Eskel Has Self-Esteem Issues (The Witcher), F/M, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Flirting, High King Ulfric Stormcloak, Jaskier and the Dovahkiin are cousins, Just bring a monster head it will be fine, Prophecy, Romance, Sarcastic Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Slow Burn, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), courting gifts, why is that not a tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashUpGames/pseuds/MashUpGames
Summary: Eskel, by virtue of the Law of Surprise, has gotten himself entangled in a Peace Treaty that will require him to marry a foreign princess or let the Northern Kingdoms be invaded by a force unrivaled from the other side of the Skelligan Isles. So far, the only person mad enough to think things won't end in disaster is Geralt's friend Dandelion, who insists he's coming to the wedding because he's related to her.
Relationships: Eskel/Female Nord Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wondered how the Geralt and the other witchers would react to being in Skyrim, and the plot bunnies have run away with me now.

Eskel wasn't an idiot. Alright, sometimes he was an idiot, but he wasn't a complete fool either. Sitting in front of the hearth in the dinning hall, he debated whether to tell Vesimir about the latest mess he'd gotten himself into or not. He'd probably end up cuffing him or laughing at him. Eskel had saved one prince from a Wyvern's nest, and been offered anything he wanted. Three times. He should have just asked for a fair price on the monsters, but no. He'd gone and offered the Law of Surprise. In his own defense, the worst he'd imagined ending up with would have been another child like Deidre. Not a political marriage. Radovid had been livid. The only thing that had kept him from taking his head right in the throne room was likely his immediate refusal of payment. Not that it mattered much in the end. The diplomatic envoy from Skyrim didn't even bat an eye, telling the king that things would still work out just fine with a witcher instead of a prince. 

Eskel didn't want it. A small, silent part of him did envy his brothers happiness, but a sorceress from the North and a princess from a land far past Skellige were two very different people. Keira, Yen and Triss didn't flinch only because they knew him, and had grown used to what he looked like. Even some of the other witchers he'd run into on the Path had winced at his face. Whores refused to look at him, and charged more on top of what they charged for witchers. If they deigned to serve him at all. A fact that Geralt's bard friend seemed to think of as the very height of crime. He could still remember vividly the tantrum fit the troubadour had thrown when he'd tried to get the three of them a night in some brothel or other in Oxenfurt. A grown man stamping his foot and going on about how 'unfair' and 'unforgivably rude' the madame was being was a sight he wouldn't soon forget.

In the end, Geralt had been forced to drag him away and explain that whores and brothels who were found out to have serviced witchers often lost a lot of clients, and therefore couldn't eat. It quieted the bard, but his anger seemed to turn much deeper afterwards. It was nice to know that at least one human didn't believe that witchers were inherently evil, though it wouldn't change what the world was. Speaking of the bard and his brother, he could heard them both coming into the dinning hall, but hadn't been told anything about Dandelion staying on this winter. 

The bard came waltzing into the hall, chattering incessantly about some relation of his getting ready for her own wedding, oblivious to the other witcher by the fire. Geralt met his eyes over the featherd hat, amusement and wry patience written all over his face. 

"-never thought she'd marry someone who she hasn't even seen before, but apparently our uncle was the one to arrange it, and the groom is supposedly a-oh!" Dandelion jumped when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Eskel and Geralt both laughed at his suddenly elevated heart beat. 

"It's good to see you both again." Eskel rumbled, happy to finally have something to distract him from his own spiraling thoughts.

Geralt embraced him first, strong arms wrapping around each other tightly. Knowing that any winter together could be their last, they made the most of it. Dandelion came in soon after, smelling of oils and perfumes as opposed to horse and sweat. He was smaller, more vulnerable, and a part of Eskel felt wholer when the bard came to Kaer Morhen. It helped to silence the voices that said witchers were monsters, that they were bound by their mutations to hurt everyone around them. It was a rare peace that the bard didn't even seem to realize he brought with him.

Greetings finished, they made their way to the kitchens where Vesimir had left a stew and several loaves of bread from the morning. Without speaking, they all decided to stay there while they ate. While listening to the bard give a recounting of his brother's contracts and adventures, Eskel let his eyes wander around the kitchen, unable to look at what was left to the school without wondering what the princess from Skyrim would see. Cracked stone, dirty and dusty shelves filled with cookware that hadn't been used in decades, mice scurrying freely without cats to keep them in check, their droppings littering the shelves and floors.

They didn't have servants to cook or clean or fetch. She would be almost helpless, and was unlikely to believe that she would be safe here. Constantly afraid, and having to fend for herself at the most basic levels, with a husband she wouldn't even be able to stomach the sight of. The princess would likely go mad. Unless he could get one of the sorceresses to help her. Triss was kind, and Keira had been a part of court life before Radovid had driven out the mages. That was assuming she was even able to make the trip to Kaer Morhen. He ran a hand over his face, trying to clear his head. The princess was going to refuse him as soon as she saw him, and with any luck it would be before anything was official.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hanette had a throbbing headache, a fresh tankard of mead in one hand, and Carlotta's smaller, smoother hand clasped in the other. Danica hovered over her, restoration magic pulsing from her open palms into what was left of her eyes. She could feel Faendal's disapproving glare from the other side of the dinning table. 

"You are a fool." He stated bluntly, no small amount of anger coloring his words. Hanette just grunted at him, wincing as the magic tugged at the sockets in her skull, seeking bits that were intact enough to pull together.

"Aye," the healer agreed, "and the drink didn't help you any." 

Hanette just grunted again, keeping her teeth clenched tight against the pain. The hagraven had come from seemingly nowhere, interrupting her drunken ambling through the woods northeast of Markarth. She had taken a moment to squint, trying to determine what or who had landed on her. It had been a mistake, and it had nearly cost her her life. Alone in the dark, feeling the blood run down her face, in agony and unable to see, she had stumbled towards what she had hoped was the main road, and instead come across a Kahjit caravan that had stopped for the night. It was a familiar one, thank the gods, and they had managed to get a potion into her before she'd passed out. Here back home in the Falkreath manor, she was still blind. Restoration magic was powerful, but not omnipotent. The Dragonborn would be blind for years yet, and would likely never see clearly again. It made her angry, but more than that it made her ashamed. 

Hanette was a legend living, a prophesied savior for her home and people, a warrior without equal, and she'd nearly been done in by a hagraven of all things. Because she had been wandering drunk and alone in the woods. It was a disgrace, and one she was going to continue to pay dearly for, for the rest of her life. Vilkas had come by just a few days ago, with a letter from her uncle that had been sent to Jorvassker. He and Ulfric had arranged a truce of sorts with the people that lived on the other side of Skellige, and in exchange they had offered a marriage between her and one of their royal families. Vilkas had had to read the letter to her, and when he finished she had ordered him out. He took the letter with him, thankfully. She would never have been able to find it latter in all the wreckage. 

Hanette was currently helpless. Blind, she couldn't even don her own armor or swing a blade, and damn it all she couldn't even cook for herself or wash her own linens. Carlotta and Faendal were kind enough to move in with her without saying anything directly about her weakness, but what husband wanted a wife he would have to tend to like a babe? Even Imperial princes had some training in battle, and if Uncle and Ulfric had both approved of this one? He was sure to be an excellent warrior. As she was, she would bring nothing but shame to him and to her people. Gods, this couldn't get any worse. Hanette had asked Carlotta to write a letter to her cousin from Redania, and prayed that it reached him. She knew little of the customs on the other side of the Isle, and if anyone would be able to help her, it was Dandelion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in Kaer Morhen, Dandelion figures out how to respond to his cousin's letter, and Eskel wrestles with whether or not to claim his Surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to a second chapter posted in a timely manner.

The library of Kaer Morhen was vast, but held little in the way of helpful material for Dandelion's letter. If it had been anyone other woman asking for advice, he would have already had pages and pages written to send them. But his cousin was not an ordinary woman. She didn't need to be warned against angering whichever noble their uncle had deemed fit enough for her to marry, and the bard highly doubted she needed to be informed on anything relating to the marriage bed. Skyrim, unlike many places in the Northern kingdoms, saw no need to shelter their women from all knowledge of the sexual act until that fateful night, and fighting was a standard part of education. Indeed, there were more children across the Sea of Ghosts that could wield a blade than could read or write. He chuckled to himself, remembering a summer long ago, when Hanette had been shocked to learn he'd never been in a fight before. He'd had older siblings of course, and she thought it a great neglect on their part that they'd never taught him. His fair haired cousin had immediately taken him under her wing, in a sense, and had taught him everything she knew about the art. They'd spent nearly every summer together on those icy cliffs, from sun up to sun down, not coming back until they were both bruised and bloody all over. Brawling was a common pastime for everyone there, so her parents thought little of it, and his own were just happy not to have him underfoot most of the day. No, Dandelion could not give her the same advice he would give to another, but that still didn't leave him with an answer on what sort of adivce he should offer. Pacing up and down the shelves, he pondered the situation.

Hanette had always been a beauty, by most standards. Her hair a bright, pale blonde, with an open, handsome face. She had a smattering of dark freckles across her nose and cheeks that he remembered one brave village boy asking to count. His cousin was much taller and wider than most women, however, with broad hips and shoulders, and strength as opposed to softness. He'd seen her tackle an ice-troll one summer, before shoving it over the cliff like a sack of potatoes. It was a strength few on the continent would be able to appreciate properly, but asking his cousin to at least pretend to be weaker or make herself smaller would be like asking an artist to hide their best works and pretend they've always made something else. Insulting and impossible. 

There was one area he could help her in, however. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he made his way back to the desk, arms swinging unconsciously and humming already an old tune from childhood. Hanette could not change her looks and did not care to hide her talents, but she did care about being polite. Providing a brief lesson on etiquette would be helpful, and it was something she was most likely to see some sort of value in. It would be much more helpful if he knew who she was actually marrying. As long as it wasn't anyone from Cidaris.

\---------------------------------

Eskel was just going to skip the wedding. 

After three nights tossing and turning in his own room, in the safest place on the continent for him and his brothers, he was tired and worn out with anxiety. He was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a tankard of Lam's home brew, silently fuming. Everywhere he looked, the old keep showed him something broken or dirty or rotting, and he hated it. It had been old and falling apart for as long as he could remember, but this constant worrying about what the princess was likely to see was driving him mad. He decided in a fit of exhausted rage that he was just not going to show up. Radovid could kiss his ass, for all he cared, and they wouldn't have a problem finding someone else to volunteer. They could just tell the Stormcoats or whoever the fuck they were that he'd died or something, and he wouldn't go near Novigrad for the next century or two.

Something had to be wrong with those delegates, if they thought a witcher was a good enough match for a royal. He drained the last of his tankard before throwing it angrily on a side table with the rest of the dishes and marching out to the training yard. Eskel could only think of two possible explanations for it; either there were no witchers or monsters where they came from, and they somehow thought all the stories about witchers and what they did were bullshit, or the most likely answer, someone was looking to get rid of her permanently, and saw a witcher as a nice, clean way of doing it. 

They both made his stomach roll. If there weren't monsters in Skyrim, then she and whoever guarded her wouldn't make it very far, in which case most of them would probably die, but it wouldn't neccessarily be anyone's fault, but if someone really wanted her gone? Marrying someone and leaving home likely wouldn't be enough for them, and she'd be murdered. 

Out in the cold sunshine, his mind went back to Diedre. She had been running, trying to hide from people that wanted her out of the way, and Stregobor's fucking 'theories' had put her and countless other girls to death and torture. He scrubbed a hand over his face, leather and callouses catching on the knarled, twisted skin. Eskel hadn't read the letter she'd sent to him, hadn't even kept it, but he couldn't forget her. He wondered if things might have gone better for her if he'd claimed his Child Surprise sooner. There wasn't much point in wondering now, was there? She'd gotten the throne and had been a damn good ruler, from what he and his brothers had heard, but....

Looking up at the near-cloudless sky, he wondered if things would go any better this time if he just went along with it. Getting her to Kaer Morhen would be the most difficult part, but once she was here? She could stay with Vesimer year-round while he went on the Path, and they'd only have to see each other during the winter. She would be safe from whoever wanted her gone, and would be able to live out her life peacfully, but only he and his brothers would actually know that. Surely her fear would abate eventually?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn’s uncle returns to Skyrim to inform her that there’s been a change of grooms, and ponder destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold! Another chapter that didn't take three years to finish!

Hearing the creaking of leather and the clanking of steel drawing closer to her door did not worry Hanette much, though that was mostly because her uncle was coming from upwind, and she recognized his scent. The beast inside her barely took note, dismissing a member of her family in favor of a continued clamoring for a hunt. There were plenty of game to chase in the dense forests surrounding Lakeview Manor, but she hadn't given it the freedom to roam and run since she'd lost her eyes. She didn't want to know what it felt like being blind and her beast. 

Galmar stopped only a stone's throw from the door, and she listened as he dismounted and lumbered up the steps to thump his heavy fist against the front doors. 

"I'm over here, Uncle." Hanette called from the vegetable patch around the side. 

He swore loudly in surprise, and she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. It was reassuring to know that she could still scare someone in her current state.

"Damnit woman," He cursed, backtracking around the side of the entryway. "You could have just said so instead of watching me walk by you."

With her heart in her throat, she dusted some of the dirt from her hands on her apron and stood up, keeping her back to him for several moments before steeling herself and turning to face him. Hanette heard him inhale sharply, and she turned back around sharply. 

"I didn't actually see you walk past me, obviously." 

He said nothing for several long minuets, and didn't move. She didn't know if it was to get his own wits about him, or to let her keep her pride. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. 

"Danica told me you'd been hurt, I didn't really believe it." He said softly, stepping forward. She could hear his boots sinking into the soft soil, smell the sweat and the fur that clung to him. Her uncle put his large, scarred and calloused hands on her shoulders, pulling her gently into his arms. She hadn't been held like this in years. 

The last time had been when Dandelion had visited, broken and lost after some monster mercenary friend of his had exploded on him with venom. Her cousin had cried and cried, getting amazingly drunk and holding onto her like a child would a straw doll. 

It was she who was crying now. Her shame and her guilt bubbling and bursting up through her throat like the Thu'um she carried in her soul. All of the frustration and anger that she kept punching back down came out now in great, heaving sobs that her Uncle thankfully just held her tightly through. He didn't waste words on empty assurances, or try to get her to stop. He just held her tightly and let her cry. 

The sun was now setting over the mountains, and she had eventually calmed enough to head inside, Galmar following in her wake. Carlotta had already set out everything for dinner, stew and mead sitting in the same place in front of the same chair she had begun putting them recently. The meal itself was quiet, Faendal and her Uncle spoke little to each other, while Carlotta tried to bring everyone into a joint conversation. Hanette thanked her for preparing the meal, and remained silent. 

While the dishes were gathered and bustled off to the storeroom for washing by the happy couple, Galmar sat and studied his niece. She was the last remaining member of his blood clan, and he'd loved her like a daughter since after her fourth winter, when she'd survived and he could let himself love her without her dying, as so many of his sister's children had. Most babies did not live long in Skyrim, if they even made it past the birthing bed at all. He couldn't bring himself to count how many little ones he'd gone to pull from a crib, only to lay his hands on a stiffening corpse. Alive and then dead the next hour, from cold or choking or just the gods being cruel. 

Hanette had lived though. Through a blizzard that had buried almost the entireity of Windhelm that killed three guards and two civilians, through the Rattles, of all things, and through war. Galmar remebered wondering if the gods letting her live had been a reward, a gift to his family for staying true to their faith. When she'd finally returned home to Skyrim, back to Windhelm to join the war, he'd been grateful beyond measure. Discovering that his headstrong, willfull niece was the Dragonborn had answered more questions than he'd ever thought to voice. Hanette had lived because she had been destined to live, to save Skyrim from the Dragons and the Thalmor. She was a living sign to all who doubted that Talos was true, and that he was watching over his people. 

He had come to tell her who she was actually marrying. To say he'd offered her hand easily to a foriegner without her agreement would be a lie. Galmar in truth had had no right to make such an offer to Radovid, and Ulfric and the others damned well knew it. But the milk-drinking viper hadn't and half the reason he'd lost in the first place had been because his men didn't think women counted as soldiers. They had greatly underestimated Skyrim's forces, and based on the talk coming from that whole nest of snakes, they would underestimate his niece as well. Galmar hadn't counted on a man who could actually fight being put forward. Then again, from Radovid's reaction to the scarred man who'd arrived, they hadn't either.

Radovid's first choice, a slight young noble still as green as spring, had brought with him to Novigrad a scarred, heavly muscled warrior who looked distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation. The noble had explained the switch as something called 'The Law of Surprise', which apparently took the choice out of his and Radovid's hands. The whole concept had sounded like gambling with the gods to him, but the warrior had saved the noble's life from some beast, and was due some sort of repayment. It was clear that the man knew how to use a weapon, and was comfortable with them. He had carried himself like many a nord warrior did, and his hesitation at being offered a bride was a high mark in his favor. The annoyingly cheerful goat that followed in his wake didn't give much credence to the rumors that Radovid's advisers had hissed through their teeth, under the guise of warnings. Galmar had known men who enjoyed the suffering of others, this witcher did not seem to be one of them.

Uthgerd and Thorygg had both voiced their apporval of him, and Ulfric was willing to trust his second in-command, despite the growing madness of the situation. In the end, Radovid had been forced by the customs of his own country and the unwavering agreement of his enemies to accept the situation. The witcher and the man he'd saved both left, and Ulfric and Radovid moved on with the negotiations while Galmar pondered how Hanette would take this latest bit of news. He'd sent already sent a letter explaining the marriage, but now she was going to be someone else's bride. If she decided to go along with it, and not just kill him for offering her up like a prize mare. 

His niece remained seated at the table, waiting. He watched the shadows from the fire dance over her hair, across the slightly bloodied bandages and twining stitches that spread over her cheekbones and brows like a war paint. Hanette was the greatest warrior Skyrim had seen since Tiber Septim, and could probably build an empire of her own, if she wanted. But all his niece had ever seemed to want out of life was her freedom and a new adventure. If she agreed to this, she would likely be giving up one for the other.

"There was a change, right before we left." Galmar began. "The man the Redanian king had chosen for the wedding was almost eaten by some monster or other, I don't remember what they called it, but he was saved by someone they called a witcher."

Hanette's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "Almost? I take it that means he's been injured?" She asked curiously.

Her uncle shook his head. "No, he made it through all right, but he offered the witcher whatever he found at home but didn't expect to be there, or something like that, as payment."

"The Law of Surprise" She muttered, taking a deep drink of the Honningbrew in front of her. 

"You've heard of it then?"

His niece nodded. "Aye, and of witchers too. Dandelion's been friends with one for over twenty years now. One they call The White Wolf." 

Galmar snorted a laugh. "Of course he is. That boy puts himself in the middle of any kind of trouble that he thinks he can spin a story out of."

She hummed noncommittally, trying to recall everything she had been told about the profession. They were trained their whole lives solely to fight and defeat monsters and beasts of all kinds, and through some painful alchemical processes were changed from humans into something more. All of them with Khajiit-eyes of gold, and with strength and senses far surpassing those with the Beast Blood. Their work was both mercenary and nomadic, and they were rarely welcome among the people they protected. 

"This witcher's name is Eskel, of the Wolf school of witchers." Her uncle explained. "He might know the White Wolf, or at least know who he is. Witchers can't be as bad as those milk-drinkers say they are. Anyone who can handle your cousin for twenty years straight has Mara's patience, that's for damned sure."

Hanette snorted into her tankard, wondering why the name Eskel sounded so familiar. "Dandelion also likes stories that are dramatic, not necessarily accurate." 

"True." He grunted. "In any case, both Ulfric and Uthgerd approved of him, and I highly doubt a man that lets a goat trail after him can be truly evil. Even if some of the women fainted."

"What?" Hanette asked, frozen in the midst of patting around the table for the basket of creme treats. "Women fainted?"

"Aye, but I think the screaming and swooning had more to do with his scars than his good looks." 

"What in oblivion was wrong with his scars?!" She demanded, wondering if they were the product of some kind of daedra worship, or left as a sign of warning for some heinous crime he'd committed. She'd seen people across the sea be mutilated or branded just for stealing bread.

"Nothing, so far as we could tell. Think they just didn't like that he had 'em on his face at all."

She was rolling her eyes before she could think better of it, and swore loudly at the agony that went lancing through her skull. The people on the other side of the sea were all mad beyond comprehension, save the for the Skelligers. And maybe Dandelion. He had the most common sense and the least fear out of anyone she'd met from that continent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Dandelion actually have common sense? As far as the dragonborn is concerned, yes. And my head cannon for Skyrim nords is that scars are so common that they're rarely even commented on unless it's a really big, rough looking scar, which would then be something to brag about.


End file.
